


Choir of the Unsaid

by im_using_my_made_up_name



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_using_my_made_up_name/pseuds/im_using_my_made_up_name
Summary: Words left unsaid make a mess of our minds. Jensen finds himself in one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone of you had a Merry Christmas and will have a Happy New Year. Don't read this looking for some holiday cheer or anything.

_~ fin_

 

The carpet was absolutely filthy.

That’s what Jensen noticed the moment he woke up. Probably because he was lying face down on it. The imported carpet that Jensen picked out when they’d been to Vienna was beige – like fresh cream or something. This one looked like a rotting egg. Grime had sunk so far into the fibers that a simple tumble in the washer wouldn’t cut it. It needed professional help. And it was all Jared’s fault. He had promised Jensen he’d look after it when Jensen said he wasn’t sure about it.

The carpet reminded Jensen of someone, but he was too hungover to figure out who.

Hangover. That must be why his head was throbbing. That made sense, but what about the bone deep ache Jensen had all over his body? Was it because he had been lying face down on a filthy carpet all night long?

Wait, why was he here again?

Jensen brought his hands and knees underneath him and he groaned quietly when his joints creak in protest. Man, he was getting old. He never knew 34 would be this bad.

The house was silent and nothing moved except for the dust mites in the air. It was dark, but the perfect morning outside managed to pierce the withered stillness of the house from between the drawn shades. There was a tinge of decay in the air, stale like the house hadn’t been aired in months. A couple of Jim Beams had rolled underneath the coffee table and pizza boxes, with most of their contents still intact, littered the couches. A little further ahead there were broken pieces of vases and glass and… stuff that seemed to have tumbled down from where Jensen had carefully placed them.

It was gonna be a morbid day of cleaning up.

Jensen finally rose from his crouch, using the coffee table to lever himself up. He was unsteady on his feet and stumbled as he walked like he was still drunk. He felt like he was still half-drunk, head thick and foggy, vision blurry and mind blank.

Jensen hissed the moment his foot touched the floor. Damn, it was cold. Was the thermostat broken?

He wrinkled his nose the moment he caught sight of his clothes. Not just because it was one of his finest suits that he only reserved for network events and it was all wrinkled up and covered in questionable stains that he wouldn’t be able to get off without spending a fortune. But also, because the moment he tilted his head down to look at himself, the putrid stench of sweat assaulted his nostrils. He smelt like he’d dug a 6-foot-deep pit with his bare hands while sweating under the blazing Texan summer sun… and then proceeded to lie in it for days.

His nails were dirty and his hands were sweaty, his beard – which wasn’t the sexy stubble that got Jared hot, but a full-blown forest – itched, his hair was un-styled and oily and was clinging to his face, it’s weight making his head unsteady. His face was grimy and covered in sweat and his eyes were crusted. He didn’t even want to chance smelling his breath out of fear that it would put him into a coma.

Yeah, Jensen was neither wearing the suit nor going to red carpet events anytime soon.

Dragging his feet up the stairs, that he was only navigating using muscle memory since it was so dark, Jensen made it to his and Jared’s bedroom. He opened the door a sliver and shut his eyes tightly against the light coming in through the open curtains. Forcing his eyes to adjust to the light, and begging his brain to quit the stinging in his temples, Jensen spied the room, looking for Jared.

(If Jared was in there, Jensen would go clean up in the guest bathroom. He didn’t want Jared to see him like this. Maybe it was vanity or maybe it was pride, but Jensen always wanted to be the perfect man when with Jared. Sure, he always kept up the persona of professional and cool aloofness before the world, only showing people the marble-carved, polished, and perfected side. But with Jared it was different. Though Jared saw right through him and loved him all the same, the impulse to be perfect was magnified. He didn’t want to be anything less that the perfection that Jared deserved, always trying to appear invincible and invulnerable – anything to keep the awe that Jared held in his eyes for Jensen.)

Jared wasn’t there.

Jensen pushed the door open rest of the way and stepped in. The bed wasn’t made and there were items of clothing thrown haphazardly over the bed – almost like he’d been fighting with Jared and they’d resorted to throwing stuff at one another, but Jensen couldn’t remember what they were arguing about, so it must’ve been just that they were in a hurry and rifling through their closet for something appropriate to wear – but the room was in a much better condition than the rest of the house. Whatever tornado had ripped through the rest of the house, apparently, hadn’t reached the bedroom.

Jensen was grateful.

A frail, shrill sound began to register in Jensen’s muddy brain. His ears picked up the sound and he looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand on Jared’s side of the bed. The time it was reading went straight over Jensen’s head and he looked at the blinking, faint red numbers on the display without taking them in. The alarm was ringing, but the sound was weak and irregular.

It was dying.

Jensen filed away the task of changing the batteries of the clock and rated it somewhere below ‘Wash the dishes in the sink before the flies and mosquitoes hovering above them breed up a new virus to kill children in Africa’, but surely above ‘Clean the bits of throw up from the suit’s lapel’.

It was an ever-growing list.

Jared’s nightstand was a disaster. A multitude of unfinished books were stacked into a precarious tower, there were chocolate wrappers and one bag each of gummy bears and rainbow twizzlers. There was a half-eaten apple oxidized and on its way to becoming a hazmat case. Jared’s iPad had been left to charge for too long and his earphones were a knotted mess. Curiously, there was a pair of underwear hanging from one of the nightstand’s drawer handles. And from where he was standing, Jensen could see something that looked like the arm of one of his old pair of glasses.

Yep. There was no mistaking whose side of the bed it was. Jensen felt the familiar throbbing in his temples that came with witnessing such a scene and then screaming about it, but this time it was because of the hangover.

(Jared had the weird habit of reading multiple books at once, and he always said he could follow each one perfectly well, so he always had more than a few books on his nightstand. Jensen could never figure out how Jared did it, but Jared had always been better at multitasking despite his airhead persona. His sweet tooth, that everyone knew of, wasn’t something he had to fake, though.

The health-nut that he was, Jared always ate an apple before bed if he could help it, but he left it unfinished more often than not, because in his words, ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away’, and he didn’t want to be away from his brother who was a doctor.

The iPad had a Wincest manip for a case, because of course it did, but only for when they were in private. And Jared never cared about the knots in his earphones cord, said that according to probability and the laws of the universe, tangled up was its natural state – he used them just like that.

The underwear was probably Jensen’s fault, thrown there when he was trying to get Jared naked as fast as possible, too lost in the moment and too eager to get to the ultimate prize that he didn’t mind making a mess. He didn’t know if it was his or Jared’s.

The glasses were the ones that had mysteriously disappeared a while ago. Jensen had always suspected.

In contrast to Jensen’s neat, organized and clutter free nightstand – which seemed to have collected a layer of dust since the last time he’d been there – Jared was a slob. But it was an ordered chaos, tiny scattered windows into Jared’s personality that was as kaleidoscopic as his eyes. Why did he ever fault Jared for that?)

He was so lost in thought, thinking about Jared’s various quirks and habits, that Jensen stumbled over something and fell.

Facedown. On a carpet. Again. At least this one wasn’t as filthy as the last one.

The culprit – Jared’s discarded sweatshirt.

Familiar anger stirred in Jensen’s chest. It was déjà vu. He’d been here before, countless times in different ways. But the last time this happened things had gotten out of hand, fast. Words were thrown, and so were clothes. Jensen couldn’t recall why he had gotten so angry the last time, but he hoped it was something important and something out of his control.

Because it was the last time and it will be.

Not the anger, no. That was still burning in his chest. A different kind, sure, but anger nonetheless. That fight had been the last.

Lying on the carpet and waiting for a fight that burns hot and burns out just as fast, ending in apologies conveyed through loving words and the sliding of wet, desperate lips over each other – a fight that would never come – for the life of him, Jensen couldn’t think up of an important enough reason for their last fight. A reason that drowned out the guilt sitting heavy in Jensen’s muscles, weighing his eyes down enough that he wanted to close them and never open them again.

Nothing was good enough.

Now Jensen was left alone in a graveyard of a house – ghosts of laughter, corpses of a relationship and flayed open remains of memories lying around everywhere. He had a mountain of unwashed dishes to climb and a pile of laundry so big he could drown in it. It had been Jared’s turn on both fronts and Jared had put it off. During the fight, Jensen had screamed that Jared will have to do them all the moment they got back from wherever they had been going, no matter how tired he was. Jared had never gotten the chance.

The drunk driver that crashed into them before Jensen could mutter out the apologies that were choking this throat had made sure of that.

He couldn’t clean up the whole house alone.

It was partly Jensen’s fault. Their families had offered to do the cleaning up when they had come for the funeral, but Jensen had driven them all away. He wanted to preserve the house exactly as it was. Mummify it and wrap it up in cloth so that no memory of Jared would leave the place. He wanted everything to be exactly the way it was so that Jared could come back and clean the fuck up after himself.

Jensen had gone and made more of a mess – of the house and of himself – when he fell apart, drunk, and half-delirious. Made it so bad that even Jared wouldn’t be able to ignore it.

He was just angry. So fucking angry.

“Jared!” he screamed. Oh, so that was what his voice sounded like. He didn’t remember it that way, broken and hoarse, but it was probably just because his throat was so dry.

“Jared, come back, I didn’t mean it.”

Jared was laughing at him. And next to him Jensen was smiling too. The picture looked so perfect hanging on the wall, like nothing could ever break it. Jensen wanted to smash it to pieces and imprint it into his mind at the same time. He wanted to gouge his eyes out with the smashed pieces of its frame. He wanted to crawl into the picture and start again.

See Jared smile for him again.

“Jared, please,” Jensen begged into the air. Fresh tear tracks streaked across his oily cheeks and they cleared some of the crust from his eyes.

On his knees, eyes shut, nails breaking the skin of his palms, dead inside and broken into a thousand pieces, Jensen begged and promised and begged.

Words that had been stuck in his throat for days now, words he wished he’d said when he had the chance, apologies he didn’t deem himself deserving to utter… all came spilling out.

“I swear- I swear I’ll never badger you to clean up again. You can leave your stuff everywhere you want, endanger my perfect face all you want, and I won’t say a thing. Hell, I’ll help you make those messes and I’ll clean them up when you get tired of it. And we can start over again. I’ll let you eat ice-cream from my cup. I’ll give you all the backrubs you want even before you ask for them. I’ll do anything. Please. Please. Jared. Jared, I’m so sorry. Jared. I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that. I shouldn’t have said whatever I said. I love you, baby. Please. I’m just so sorry. God, please. Give him back. Come back. Jared. I’m sorry. Please.”

There was someone rocking his body, someone holding him close. Someone telling him it’ll be all right. There was someone trying to comfort him.

But Jensen could feel none of it. He didn’t want to feel any of it.

He couldn’t do this alone.

He didn’t want to do it alone.

Jensen let himself fall apart on the carpet. Let his tears fall and soak into it. Let his fingers claw at the fibers, trying to grasp them, trying to pull them out, trying to tear them apart. He knew that if he passed out on that carpet, he’d make it as filthy as the last one too. Good.

Because what was the point?

There was no one left to be perfect for.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, another sad story without a happy end (but if you look closely, there is something resembling a hope, I guess?). What can I say? I was just in the mood and needed something to balance out the fluff I read around this time of the year. I was also just thinking some morbid stuff and that gave way to this fic. But I'm in the process of writing a longer non-au fic with some action and fluff, so there's that.
> 
> Just to clarify, I don't think Jensen was in the wrong for fighting with Jared about cleaning up or anything. Couples have fights because they are different people with different personalities, but they find common ground and make up again. Jared and Jensen in this story would have done that too, if they had the chance. This fic is just me imagining what it'd be like if the last words you ever said to someone you love are during a fight.
> 
> Like always, not beta-ed so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry, and feel free to point them out to me. This fic is also part of the 'write what comes to mind to combat writer's block' thing I've got going on. And it isn't really that good. But it is what it is. I hope you guys like it. Please comment and let me know what you think :)
> 
> Merry Christmas.


End file.
